


She Shoots, She Scores

by madjm



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 11:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7048000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madjm/pseuds/madjm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke finds a new bonus to going to her goddaughter's soccer games. Bellarke fluff, seriously, nothing but fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Shoots, She Scores

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw a Hot Dad at a kids' soccer game when I was walking in the park, and then this happened. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Clarke could say with complete objectivity that her goddaughter Chloe was the cutest and most awesome child to ever exist. Clarke had loved her since before she was born, and now that she was 4 years old, she was even more fun to spend time with and babysit. She was the spitting image of her father — people called her Wells’ mini-me all the time — but her smile was 100 percent Raven, as was her often destructive curiosity about how things worked. They’d lost track of the number of toys the girl had destroyed trying to open them up and investigate what was inside.

 

And Chloe was basically the only reason Clarke would agree to spend an hour of her precious Saturday sweating her ass off in the hot sun, sitting on possibly the most uncomfortable bleachers known to mankind. The bright side was the high entertainment value of watching a bunch of 3- and 4-year-olds running around a soccer field with great enthusiasm and little purpose (and the coaches trying in vain to corral them). The downside was that Clarke had to drown herself in sunblock of SPF a million to avoid being burned, she somehow managed to attract every insect in the entire park — at least, the bitey ones — and the Mighty Crickets were sadly bereft of any hot single dads or moms for her to discreetly ogle.

 

Clarke realized that she might have to revise that last point as she led Chloe toward the bench a few minutes before the game on a — naturally — scorching Saturday afternoon. It had no business being so hot in mid-April, but Mother Nature was kind of a bitch. Wells was midway through a two-week work trip and Raven was running late across town and was planning to meet them at the game. Tracking down Chloe’s uniform and convincing her to actually wear it took forever, and she’d just remembered sunblock for both of them at the last minute, shoving the bottles in her tote bag and hustling the girl out the door.

 

Chloe was chattering about her favorite superhero — Go Go from “Big Hero 6” — but Clarke lost track of what she was saying when they passed the guy crouched down next to one of the Crickets at the sidelines. He had tanned skin and freckles, a gorgeous smile, and wild dark hair that stuck up in every direction. The little girl he was talking to was giggling as he tugged his baseball cap over her head, engulfing almost the whole thing, and it was so incredibly cute that she almost tripped. His black shorts and tight grey T-shirt showed off a drool-worthy body; his arms alone nearly did her in.

 

Clarke had a definite Thing about arms.

 

She forced herself to calmly walk past, settling Chloe at the bench with Coach Indra and covering her with sunblock. 

 

“I’m going to be right there, munchkin,” she said, pointing out where she’d be sitting. “And your Mommy will be here in no time. Kick butt.” Clarke offered her a fist for their “secret” handshake, which Chloe threw herself into: fist bump, high five, low five, hug.

 

She was late enough that most of the seats were full, but there was a little spot midway up the bleachers, so she sat and stuck her bag next to her to hold a place for Raven. Pulling out the sunblock, she sat it to the side and shot her friend a text first.

 

**_we’re here. and HOT DAD ALERT._ **

 

She’d finished slathering her legs with sunblock before Raven had a chance to answer.

 

**_On our team?? No way, Wells is the only hot 1. And he’s mine._ **

 

**_No wait, Octavia’s husband is a babe. But u met him._ **

 

**_dark hair, stunning smile, super built._ **

 

She snuck another look, and the guy was leaning over the little girl on the bench. She couldn’t see which girl it was, and she didn’t know all the kids on the team yet anyway. But damn. 

 

_Please don’t let him be married._

 

**_fantastic ass. and his arms._ **

 

**_ldkjflaksdj RAVEN. ARMS._ **

 

**_Shit, I’m driving as fast as I can._ **

 

**_don’t drive and text, bitch._ **

 

**_U R not my mom._ **

 

Clarke snickered, picking up the lotion bottle again.

 

“Is this seat taken?”

 

She knew before she even looked up that it was Hot Dad, because of course a guy like that would have a deep, unfairly sexy voice that she could easily imagine growling filthy things into her ear while he got her off.

 

Of course.

 

She looked up, smiled, and threw Raven to the wolves. Let her find her own damn seat. 

 

“Go ahead,” she said, pulling her bag off the seat and dropping it at her feet. “Pretty sure my friend’s not going to make it.”

 

“Thanks,” he said, dropping down next to her and focusing on the field without another word. The whistle blew, and the girls began to run around the field in a surprising semblance of order. The season was almost over, so maybe they were actually getting better.

 

Clarke started rubbing sunblock onto her arms, deeply regretting the fact that she hadn’t taken any care with her appearance today. Of course, the one day there was a Hot Dad, she’d just thrown on a tank top and shorts with some flip-flops that had seen better days. Her hair was piled on her head without any concern other than keeping it the hell off her neck in the heat, and she hadn’t even bothered to put on any makeup, knowing that she’d probably just sweat it off. 

 

And now, she thought, dotting her face with lotion, she probably smelled like a piña colada. 

 

With a sigh, she started to stick the bottle back in her bag when she heard Hot Dad clear his throat.

 

“You, ah, you really should do the back, too.”

 

“I’m sorry?” she looked over at him, wondering if he’d been watching her this whole time. Which was … something she didn’t really need to be thinking about at a kids’ soccer game. 

 

He yanked his baseball cap off, running his hand through his hair before pulling it back on. “You’re already a little … the back of your neck and, um, upper back are already a little red,” he said, and she thought he might be blushing a little bit. “You should put some sunblock on there, too.”

 

Nodding, she dug the bottle out of her bag and started to apply it to the back of her neck. “Thanks. I … we were running late today, so I’m still scatterbrained.”

 

She tried her best to get all of her upper back that was bared by her tank top, but Hot Dad was frowning at her when she finished.

 

“What?” 

 

“You just. Look, I don’t want to be a creep, but can I just —“ he motioned to the bottle of sunblock.

 

It took a moment for her to get control of the not-kid-friendly thoughts that ran through her brain, but she finally nodded and handed him the bottle. She absolutely did not moan at the feeling of his fingers on her skin, at least not on the outside. He didn’t linger at all, just quickly hit all the spots she hadn’t been able to reach and handed her the bottle back. But his hands were just so _big_ and his fingers were just a little bit rough, and clearly it had been way too long since she’d had anybody that hot touching her. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually ever even encountered anyone that hot before.

 

“Thanks,” she said again. “I burn really easily, even if we’re only out here an hour.”

 

He shrugged, looking back at the field. They were halfway through the 10-minute first half and, as usual, nobody had scored yet despite the fact that there were no goaltenders. “You’re welcome. Which one is yours?”

 

“Um, it’s my goddaughter Chloe, she’s number 7.” Clarke scanned the field, pulling out her cellphone again before pointing. “There. Looks like you’re about to witness her signature move.”

 

“She has a signature move?” he asked, sounding amused. 

 

“Mmmhmm.” She raised her phone, ready to snap a shot for Raven. “She learned it from her Auntie Clarke. Aaaaaand, here we go.” She took a picture just as Chloe headed to the side of the field and sat down on the grass.

 

He laughed. “Well, that’s a new one.”

 

“At least they finally got her to stop sitting down in the middle of the field,” Clarke said. Coach Indra, used to this by now, just shook her head and sent another girl in to replace her.

 

“Have her parents ever thought that maybe soccer’s not for her?”

 

“She loves the other kids and going to practice, but games, not so much. Wells — her father — was always really into soccer; I can remember my Dad and I going to his games when I wasn’t much older than Chloe,” Clarke said. She hadn’t really thought about that in a long time, but like most memories of her father, it was a bittersweet reminder of how great he was — and how much she missed him. “Of course, _mostly_ what I remember was when Dad bought me grape popsicles from the snack bar. That was the best.”

 

Shaking his head, he nudged her in the side. “So … you’re Auntie Clarke, then?”

 

Looking away from the field, she swallowed hard at the way he was smiling at her. He really was beautiful. She stuck out a hand. “Clarke Griffin,” she said.

 

“Bellamy Blake.” He took her hand, and his was so big it swallowed hers. 

 

Which was Not. Something. To. Think. About. At. A. Kids. Soccer. Game. Clarke. Griffin. You. Tramp.

 

“So, ah, which one is yours?” she asked, telling herself to settle the hell down. For all she knew, the guy had a wife and five kids.

 

“Number 15,” he said. “Julia Woods, my niece.”

 

“Oh, Octavia’s daughter! She’s the only one who’s really good at soccer so far. Last week, she actually scored a point … thingie.”

 

“A _point thingie_?” he laughed.

 

“Shut up,” she said, shoving at him. “A goal, whatever. I told you, I’m not exactly a soccer aficionado.”

 

“Yeah, you’re in it for the popsicles,” he said drily. “So, you’re a friend of my sister? Octavia?”

 

“Actually, I just met her last week. Chloe’s parents know … wait, look, look!” She pointed at the field, where Julia was kicking the ball toward the goal.

 

Bellamy stood up, pulling her up beside him, and she focused her phone on the little girl, capturing her goal on video. It would have been more impressive had any of the opposing team members even shown a token interest in stopping her, but still.

 

“Yes!” Bellamy punched his fist in the air. “Go Jules!”

 

Clarke laughed as they sat back down. “Does she get her soccer skills from her Uncle Bellamy?”

 

He shook his head. “Nah, that’s all Octavia. She’s going to kill me for not recording it.”

 

“Lucky for you, I got it.” She held out her phone and pressed play. It was a little shaky, but she’d managed to clearly capture little Julia’s big moment.

 

He smiled, leaning closer to watch it. “That’s her mom’s killer instinct right there. Any way I could persuade you to share this with me?”

 

He definitely wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and though she was sometimes a little tone deaf about these things, she was like 95 percent sure he was flirting with her.

 

“No persuasion required,” she said. “Your sister kind of scares me, too.”

 

“Hmm, too bad,” he said with a little almost-shy smile. “I was looking forward to owing you a favor.”

 

Okay, make that 100 percent sure. Definite flirtation. She took a deep breath as butterflies started fluttering in her belly. It was one thing to check out the hot guy, another entirely to think he might be interested in her, too.

 

“Well, if you really —” Clarke cut herself off as a whistle blew. “That’s halftime. We get a 15-minute break, then they’re back for the rest of the match.”

 

“Cool,” he said, standing as the other parents and spectators started trailing off the bleachers. “I’ll … see you in a few minutes?”

 

“I’ll save you a seat,” she promised, following him toward the bench and splitting away when she spotted Chloe, still sitting on the sidelines.

 

* * *

 

“So, Hot Dad?” Raven asked a few minutes later.

 

Her friend had shown up a couple minutes into the halftime break, and they were both back on the bleachers watching Chloe play games on Raven’s phone. 

 

“Hot uncle, actually,” Clarke said. “Octavia Woods’ brother.”

 

“Damn,” Raven said. “I’ve never met him, but she’s hot.”

 

“He’s hotter.”

 

“I’ll believe that when I see it. Speaking of, where did this glorious figment of your S - E - X - starved imagination go off to?”

 

“I didn’t make him up!” Clarke objected, laughing. “Maybe his niece needed a bathroom break, I don’t know.”

 

“Hmm, well they’re starting back in a couple, so if he’s real he better get back here quick,” Raven said, ducking Clarke’s half-hearted shove. “Oh, wait. Wait. _Damn_. Grey shirt, black shorts, purple baseball cap?”

 

Clarke scanned the crowd, picking out Bellamy almost immediately. He definitely stood out in a crowd. “Mmmhmm.”

 

“I can’t see his face, but allow me to repeat myself: Damn.” She glanced at her daughter, who was caught up in her game. “I want to bite those arms.”

 

“Told you,” Clarke said. “Anyway, you’re married; settle down and leave the perving to those of us who are single.”

 

“I’ve still got eyes, haven’t I?” Raven muttered before turning to her daughter with a bright grin. “Okay, buttercup, time for the second half. Let’s get down there.”

 

Raven passed Bellamy on her way down, turning and making an absurd leering face behind his back, and Clarke had to look down to get a handle on her laughter. Raven was the actual best.

 

“Hey,” Bellamy said when he reached her. “I got you something.”

 

Looking up, her smile faltered for a moment when she saw he was holding out a grape popsicle. Eyes wide, she stared at the frozen treat that sparked memories of heat, the smell of fresh-cut grass and the little smile on her Dad’s face when he offered her either grape or orange, as if he didn’t know which she would choose.

 

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t ask … if you don’t want it, that’s totally okay,” Bellamy said.

 

“No!” Clarke shook her head and reached for the popsicle. “Sorry, that’s great. Just, ah, made me think of my Dad, that’s all.”

 

He nodded and sat next to her. “Is that a bad thing?”

 

“No, no, it’s a good thing,” she said, taking a bite. “Good but sometimes hard. He died last year.”

 

“I’m sorry. That’s tough.”

 

Just from the way he said it, she could tell he’d experienced loss himself. She wanted to ask, but maybe a kids’ soccer match wasn’t the time or place. She spotted Raven coming toward the bleachers as the whistle blew to start the second half, and she fished her phone out of her bag with one hand, typing in the passcode. 

 

“Put in your number, I’ll send you the video,” she said, holding her phone out while taking another bite of her popsicle. 

 

“You know, you don’t need an excuse to ask for my number,” he said, smirking. “A couple of the single moms already have.”

 

She yanked the phone out of reach before he could take it. “ _Or_ , I could just send the video right to your sister,” she said. “I’m sure Raven has her number.”

 

“Oh, I do,” her friend said, dropping onto the seat on her other side.

 

“Okay, okay, just kidding,” he said, holding his hand out expectantly.

 

Slowly, she dropped the phone in his hand, finishing off the popsicle just as the last of it started to melt in gooey drips down her fingers. Frowning, she found a package of tissues in the bottom of her bag with just one left. Wiping her hand off, she turned to see him typing away.

 

“What are you doing?” she asked, making a grab for the phone, which he held out of reach and screened with his hand.

 

“Nothing,” he said, tapping the screen a couple more times before handing it back. “Here.”

 

She glanced at Raven, who had her eyes on the field but was definitely eavesdropping, before looking at the phone. She found his contact info, narrowing her eyes when she saw he’d sent himself a couple of texts from her phone.

 

**_Hey Bellamy, this is Clarke, the beautiful soccer aficionado, and clearly you have zero game but if you could man up and ask me I might take pity on you and have dinner with you._ **

 

**_Or coffee._ **

 

**_Or tea, tea’s good._ **

 

**_Or popsicles._ **

 

She couldn’t stop smiling as she looked up to meet his hopeful grin. “Who uses the word ‘aficionado’ in a text? What are you, an English teacher?”

 

He shrugged. “History, actually.”

 

Clarke laughed. “Figures.”

 

“So …”

 

“What about all those single moms?”

 

“I told them I’m seeing someone.”

 

“Are you?” she asked. She was pretty sure he wasn’t _that_ guy, but she’d thought Finn was a good guy, too.

 

He bit his lip. “Not yet, but I’m trying to be optimistic.”

 

“In that case, yes,” she said. “Dinner sounds great.”

 

He tugged at the bill of his hat, scanning the field. As usual, the kids were running around, mostly just kicking the ball back and forth. “I’ve got Jules until tomorrow afternoon when her parents get back. Maybe tomorrow night?”

 

“Tomorrow’s good for me,” she said.

 

They returned their attention to the field, just in time to see Chloe perform her signature move in the second half as well.

 

With a minute to go, Clarke’s phone vibrated with a text message from Raven, who appeared to be innocently watching the game.

 

**_BITE. THOSE. ARMS._ **

 

Clarke quickly cleared the text off the screen, hopefully before Bellamy could read it, and flipped off her laughing friend.

 

* * *

 

She’d just gotten home when her phone chimed, and she dug it out of her bag, smiling when she saw it was from Bellamy.

 

**_Slight problem with tomorrow. My sister is stuck in Ohio until Monday. Don’t ask._ **

 

**_Do you mind having a very short third wheel for dinner?_ **

 

**_Also we have to eat early because her bedtime is 8._ **

 

Clarke laughed, slipping her shoes off and dropping on the couch.

 

**_that sounds awesome._ **

 

**_but we could postpone until next weekend if you prefer._ **

 

**_I’d rather not. There’s another game on Saturday._ **

 

**_I don’t want you to be distracted if there’s a hot dad with a fantastic ass._ **

 

**_And ARMS._ **

 

_No. Oh no. No no no no no._

 

Clarke gaped at the phone, blushing like mad, happy that there was no one around to see her utter humiliation. He’d seen her texts. She didn’t know if it was worse if he knew they were about him or if he thought they were about someone else. She was never going to be able to face this guy again. Setting the phone to the side, she grabbed a throw pillow and buried her face into it, silently screaming. Her phone kept chiming away, and she was afraid to see what he’d sent, but eventually curiosity got the better of her.

 

**_Clarke?_ **

 

**_Are you there?_ **

 

**_I wasn’t snooping on your phone, it was RIGHT THERE._ **

 

**_Almost like you wanted me to see it. :-)_ **

 

**_OMG._ **

 

**_It’s cool, it gave me the guts to ask you out._ **

 

**_Shit, don’t hate me now._ **

 

**_bye, i’m going into the witness protection program._ **

 

**_Lol_ **

 

**_If it helps, I promise to spend a third of our date telling you the things I find attractive about you._ **

 

She laughed despite herself. 

 

**_only 1/3?_ **

 

**_OK, 50 percent. I mean I have to save some of them for when we won’t have a 4 year old with us._ **

 

**_all right fine. but i’m timing you._ **

 

**_Deal._ **

 

They texted for a few more minutes, arranging to meet at a kid-friendly deli downtown. There was a park across the street that Chloe loved to play at, so Clarke thought Julia might like it, too.

 

**_5:30 at the Dropship. I’ll be the guy in the purple baseball cap._ **

 

**_With a 4 year old._ **

 

**_And ARMS._ **

 

**_I hate you._ **

 

**_:-)_ **


End file.
